Breathing in a Vacuum
by FearTheRedman89
Summary: Kind of a different approach to fan fiction: almost like a graphic novel. There is an overarching universe, but each chapter is supposed to stand on its own. Instead of telling one narrative story, every chapter focuses on and investigates a different aspect of a character. Some dramatic, some romantic, some action-oriented. Mainly set between ME2 and 3. This is my first fan fic.
1. Letter to the Reader

This brief blurb should serve as a letter to the reader. I originally posted it as a review, but I felt it would be better as an introduction. I apologize for any repetition.

The 350 or so characters in the description weren't really enough to communicate what I'm going for, so I'll try to elaborate here.

My number one priority is to treat the characters with respect. Mass Effect is probably my very favorite game franchise, and I am attached to its characters. Nothing bothers me more in a fan fiction than when someone takes a character that I love (like Tali for instance) and turns her into a high school girlfriend. I wanted to represent the characters in a way that was realistic and mature- one that reflected their essence as it was presented in the games. I also wanted to give these characters conflict that was more than just a story of challenges, but that addressed who they are as a character: their fears, insecurities, loves, etc, and I wanted to present these conflicts in a profound way. As I said in the description, this is not a narrative story. There is no clearly defined beginning or end point. Every chapter investigates different aspects of a character, and is meant to stand on its own. Some of these aspects are made up by me, some of them are hinted in the games, but I provide them with more depth and elaboration. Even so, the universe is still continuous. If Tali and Shepard are together in one, then you can expect that they will be together in all. If something like that changes, then it will be explained in one way or another in the chapter.

Ok, a brief word on my writing style. One common problem I often see in writing in general, including fan fiction, is a tendency to over-describe or over-saturate scenes and characters. People seem to be under the impression that good writing is fancy writing. I disagree. Adding three adjectives to every noun when you're describing a scene or character more often than not just leaves it sounding ostentatious. It is possible for something to be both simple, and elegant, and I did the best I could to adopt this idea into my writing. Often times my form of writing is sort of a stream-of-consciousness, and therefore my writing style is meant to sound believable- like it is something a character would actually be thinking to themselves in their own heads. I will use sentence fragments and breaks in tempo frequently in order to achieve this goal, but this is intentional.

At any rate- this is my first attempt at fan fiction, so I am still learning. I hope you enjoy it, and please don't hesitate to comment or critique. Thanks for reading-

-FearTheRedman89


	2. Chapter 1

Ch 1

_There was fear. That was undeniable…_

_But there was something else there too. Relief. Acceptance. He had trouble processing the thoughts._

_He was conflicted… half of his mind was still reeling- pumped full of adrenaline from the events that had just transpired, but the other half was calm. Maybe stoic would be a better word. He had resigned to the fact that he was going to die, and he knew that the asphyxiation would start in a few moments. His suit was venting oxygen, and he was sure there couldn't be many breaths left- and yet, here he was... floating… watching the red light from the system's star peak over the horizon of the alien world that filled his visor. It was… a beautiful way to die._

Shepard opened his eyes. It took a moment to adjust to the darkness, but he quickly recognized the familiar grey metal of the Normandy's hull directly above him. The blue glow from the fish tank reflected palely off the skin of the sleeping form next to him. Shepard quietly wrapped his arm around Tali's shoulders. He wanted to tell her about the dream he'd been having the last few months. He wanted to tell her everything; about those feelings, the fear and the relief. He still wasn't sure which one bothered him more. He wanted her to tell him that he wasn't crazy, that she understood… and he knew that's exactly what she would say… but now was not the time. Everyone had a lot on their plate since the mission to the Collector base, and he didn't want to add to it by shoveling his own drama on top of the already sizable heap of stress weighing down the crew. Besides, he was enjoying the view.

Tali had surprised him in his cabin last night, something he was ready to admit he sorely needed. Her immune system had adjusted well to him over the past few months, but getting her out of her suit was still not a regular occurrence. Needless to say, he was more than happy to walk in and see her lying across his bed with nothing but one of his N7 t-shirts draped over her shoulders. The memory of the image made him smile as he gently ran his fingers across her arm in the darkness. Her skin was gray, with just the slightest touch of purple, which seemed to come out even more in the faint blue light. He loved everything about it, how it looked, felt, even tasted when they kissed. Now that he had seen just how beautiful she was, the fact that she had to wear that suit everyday seemed like something of a tragedy. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to lie there in the quiet and watch her sleep. He knew she would probably feel self-conscious if she was aware of him staring at her. She would never admit it, but she was still a tad shy about her body out of the suit. In fact, that was precisely one of the things he loved so much about her- how she could switch so easily from the cute and somewhat apprehensive quarian that he had met on the citadel so long ago, to the sexy, confident woman who he had come to respect.

Shepard pressed his head further back into his pillow as he thought about all the things he would have to juggle once their rest cycle was over. He had been completely unprepared for the mountain of shit that came down on him when the so-called "suicide mission" was finished. Hell, he wasn't even really sure they were gonna make it back; despite the speeches he had given the team about everyone making it out alive. The fact that they pulled it off was still amazing to him… though he wasn't able to save everyone… The image of Kelly Chambers' face in that Collector pod right before she died… that look of terror in her eyes… He pushed it to the back of his mind. He had been a soldier long enough to know that you can't dwell on the dead when there's work to be done. Besides… that image wasn't going anywhere…

A few hours later they were getting ready for the day. Tali had re-suited, and was in the process of running a full decontamination suite through her omni-tool.

"How bad of a reaction do you think you'll have this time," Shepard asked softly as he straightened his collar.

"Nothing to serious," she said cheerfully, glancing up from her work. "It gets a little better every time you know…" she added, smiling promiscuously.

"Good thing too, because I'm getting spoiled," Shepard replied jokingly. "And god knows which vitally important, over-inflated politician I'd piss off if I was distracted thinking of you all day."

Tali stopped in front of him as she crossed the room toward the door. She placed his hands on her hips and leaned in, pressing her body into his. "Well we wouldn't want that would we…" she whispered playfully into his ear.

"You're not helping." Shepard retorted as she continued toward the door. Tali chuckled joyfully, obviously pleased with herself and her newfound power to mess with the Commander.

"I'm heading down, I've got loads of work in engineering, and I'm still scheduled to meet with the quarian ambassador on the Presidium later. I'm not sure they quite know how to react to all this new intel yet."

"Well maybe they should join the club," Shepard replied in a voice that sounded more cynical than he would have liked. "Sorry, Sorry" he quickly blurted after Tali turned in her tracks. He couldn't see her face behind her helmet, but he knew she was shooting him a look. Tali had little tolerance for such pessimistic comments, and deep down he appreciated her for it. "You should get going," he followed with a reassuring grin, "I don't wanna make you late."

"I'll let you know if I need help," she added as she headed out the door toward the elevator.

"You won't," Shepard whispered to himself as the door came down behind her. Tali never needed help. She didn't really _need _him. It was a thought that Shepard found comforting. She was a formidable woman, a capable crewmate, but even more than that… he trusted her. Surrounded by all the politics, all the meetings, the Alliance still riding his ass about his previous Cerberus connections… and above it all the stone cold dread of the reaper invasion looming over his head… knowing that there was someone there he could rely on… both as a crewmate and as a partner… it was like being back in the void, the vacuum of space, but this time… there was a way out.

This time he could breathe.


	3. Chapter 2

__Ch 2

_What is the difference between pity and pain…_

Shepard sunk further into his own head as he stood in the open-aired atrium of the council chambers. The vaulted ceilings and reverberating acoustics made him feel small compared to the familiar passageways of the Normandy. The council had finally decided to fully reinstate his Spectre status, a process which had not been quick considering his prolonged involvement with Cerberus. That decision, though, had come with one condition: the council would personally review his entire record, including his Alliance service, his actions as a Spectre from years before, and all of the logs and debriefings he had accumulated during his work with Cerberus. The result was weeks full of long, monotonous meetings with the council. Adding to the frustration, delays seemed to pop up everywhere, as the council was set on making the time to perform these inquiries themselves, and their schedules were strained as it was.

_I remember that hospital, down to the very last detail. The smell of the disinfectant, the constant muddle of sound rolling through the hallways, even the outdated holo-tube in my room that would only broadcast that one colonial news station. I still remember the clothes they were wearing when they walked up to the nurses' station…_

When it came to his military record, the council was usually willing to move quickly, glazing over standard reports, only stopping at missions that seemed particularly interesting or controversial. Unfortunately, today was one of those days. The council had arrived at the mission that first garnered Shepard so much attention and recognition, the one that made him a Spectre candidate to begin with. The council was ready to address his mission on Akuze, and they weren't going to move on until they had gotten a first-hand account.

_I remember the woman, with her expensive looking coat, her jewelry, and her perfect tan. And then there was the boy, must have been ten or eleven, walking quietly behind in his mother's shadow. I remember him standing there with his head down and his hands shoved deep in his pockets…_

"Commander Shepard-" the turian councilman's words snapped him back to the present. The councilman turned away from the C-Sec officer who had interrupted the session to deliver a message. "You were just recounting your mission on Akuze. Please continue." The councilman's voice seemed metallic, even for a turian, an effect which was only amplified by the echo of the room. Shepard took a breath, and resumed his account…

"…when I came too there was blood on the ground. I couldn't tell whose it was, it may have been mine. The fire had been knocked over, but some of the embers spread across the ground were still burning, so there was enough light to see about ten yards in any direction. I didn't see anyone from my unit in the immediate area, but I could hear gunfire coming from the west, and I could make out some of the muzzle flash. At that time I still don't think any of us knew what had attacked us, we had never encountered thresher maws before. The unit was scattered, a few may have been firing at each other. I activated the emergency beacon on my omni-tool, but I only received three pings from the others, so I had no way of knowing how many were left, or how to communicate with them. I sent coordinates to the Marines that I could and then moved out myself."

_The nurses were busy, but they found time to speak with the woman. I was too far away to hear, but I knew how the conversation would go. And I knew that the news wouldn't be good. Only one Marine made it back from that mission. Out of fifty soldiers… only me…_

"I was just close enough to make out the silhouettes of the three marines in the light of the planet's two prominent moons. One of them saw me coming and pointed me out to the others- that's when they hit us. Looking back now, we know that the maws are attracted to groups. If I had known that back then, I would have ordered everyone to split up- make for the high ground and lay low until the fleet could coordinate an evac. But I didn't know. I couldn't have known. The ground started breaking up around us. We could hear them more than we could see them, but I could definitely make out some of the heads rising from the ground behind the others. I couldn't really see details, but I knew that they were big. We all ran, there really wasn't much of a choice. I tried to run with the others, to keep together so that maybe we could regroup once we were out of danger. Then I felt the hard clay beneath me give out. I glimpsed the backs of those three men running north as I fell- that was the last time I saw anyone from that unit."

"Almost as soon as I hit the bottom of the sinkhole I felt a pain in my right leg sharp enough to take the breath out of my lungs. I grit my teeth and wheeled around toward the source of the pain, pulling my lancer from its magnetic hitch as I turned. The maw had my leg in its jaws… or beak… whatever the hell you call it. It wasn't a solid grip, my leg was still halfway out of the corner of its mouth, but it was good enough that it was pulling me further in, and I could feel a lot of blood running down into my boot. I opened up on it, tried to aim for whatever vulnerable spot I could see. The pain was intense, even with the adrenaline going; my vision was blurring and I was doing my best not to hit my own leg as I tried to fight the recoil of the rifle. Looking back, that was probably the first time a human got an up-close look at one, but I wasn't really concerned with that in the moment. I just knew the son of a bitch was ugly and it needed to die."

_All I could do while the nurse spoke was watch their faces. I knew they couldn't see me, and even if they could they wouldn't know who I was. Still… I felt guilty. Not because of anything I did, or anything I failed to do. I felt guilty simply because I was there, and the man who belonged to this family wasn't…_

"It seemed like I emptied over a hundred rounds into the thing before I was finally able to wriggle free and the maw pulled back deeper into the hole. I don't entirely remember dragging myself out of that pit, I was hazy from the blood loss by that point. I got back to the surface and used what was left of my medi-gel to stop the bleeding. My whole right leg from mid-thigh down to just below my knee was throbbing pretty bad, and it hurt to move. I knew there were some breaks, but I would have to find some materials in order to make a splint and set the bones. I doped myself up with as many painkillers as I figured I could handle, and started crawling. All things said, I spent three days on that planet until I was found. I moved from place to place, tried to keep my distance from where the maws tended to congregate. When the Alliance finally found me, I was barely alive."

Shepard's last words reverberated off the walls of the chamber for a few seconds before silence prevailed again. The council seemed satisfied enough with the account he had given, but all Shepard could think about were the things he left out. The things he didn't tell them. People had been making a big deal out of his survival on Akuze for pretty much his entire career. Every time the story was told, it seemed like some new twist, some new impossible feat had been added. For every time he had been called a survivor, a fighter, a man who would do whatever it took, who's will could never be broken, Shepard never told them the reality of it, the real reason why he lived and everyone else died…

It was luck.

If a maw had gotten him while he lay unconscious by the fire, if one had found him while he was wounded, trying to set his shattered bones, if any of that had happened, he would be just as dead as any of the other forty-nine Marines that never made it off the surface. Hell, maybe he should have been.

Shepard didn't tell them about the hospital he spent two weeks in afterwards. About the son of the sergeant from forth squad and his step-mother, who came looking for news at the nurses' station.

_The woman was predictably hysterical; I had seen this reaction before. First came tears, then anger. She demanded to know who was responsible. Who was at fault. She demanded that they give her someone to blame. Then I looked at the kid. Through the entire thing, his face had not changed at all. He stared intently at the base of the counter in front of him, ignoring the woman's shouting and antics, like he was the only one in the room. I had seen this before too…_

It was awhile later when Tali walked into his cabin, having wrapped up her duties for the day, to share a few precious hours with the Commander before their rest cycle. It was the part of the day Shepard looked forward to the most, and one that he especially needed on days like today. Tali spotted Shepard sitting at the desk beside his bed, and as she approached, she noted a look of weariness on his usually sharp complexion.

"Hard day?" she asked as she squeezed his shoulders reassuringly.

"Long day" he replied, letting his head fall back against her chest.

She let his head rest where it was, quietly running her fingers through his hair. He allowed his eyes to close for a moment. He was glad that she was there. Maybe tonight he'd tell her all the things he didn't tell the council. Maybe he'd tell her about the woman and the boy at the nurses' station.

_What is the difference between pity and pain…_

_Pity is dramatic. Pain is numb._


	4. Chapter 3

Ch 3

Tali shifted in her seat. These weekly meetings had become a staple part of life on the Normandy during their stay on the citadel. In the time since the mission to the collector base, the combat missions had been replaced by politics, though many- herself included- didn't find this to be much of an improvement. The thought surprised her a little. She doubted she would have felt the same a few years ago. But that seemed like another lifetime now.

Needless to say, routine had become a much more essential part of life on the ship, and these meetings were a necessary part of that routine. John liked to get weekly updates from the team, and as she had already delivered her briefing for engineering, all that was left to do was to sit and listen. She turned her gaze back to the front of the conference room. John was in the middle of another discussion with Mordin concerning the scientist's research on the Reaper-tech they had salvaged on their missions. The salarian was brilliant, there was no question there, but he was also eccentric, and sometimes John had to make sure he was staying on task. Tali smiled slightly at the sight of the scientist describing his latest experiment. His passion for his work was admirable… and also humorous at times. She watched the Commander interact with his crew, and as she did so she found herself drifting back to the first time she met John… back in that other lifetime.

_I have something to prove…_

Gunfire ripped through the glass of the storefront as they darted inside, the Commander and his squadmate firing behind for cover as they moved. She had done the best she could to keep up, but the pace set by the human was fast, and as she collapsed onto floor against the shop counter, she had an awful feeling in the pit of her stomach that she wouldn't be able to get back on her feet again. She winced, clutching her side as a needling pain seemed to pierce all the way through her torso. She had done the best she could to treat the wound she had received during her flight from Saren's agents, and had thankfully managed to repair the rupture in her suit, but she was sure that the wound had reopened during the fight. Quarians were not particularly known for being fast healers.

None of this made any sense! Her meeting with Fist was supposed to be her way out. Instead, it turned out to be a trap. How could she have been so stupid! So naïve! If the human hadn't shown up when he did, she may never have made it out of that alley. How Shepard had even gotten involved in any of this to begin with was a mystery to her, not that she was complaining. The only information she had on the human was what she had glanced in the galactic news reports. Why would the first human Spectre be looking for evidence against another Spectre, especially one as renowned as Saren? Her mind was racing too fast for her to really address the question. "Fist, that _bosh'tet_!" she thought to herself, unable to move on from the recent betrayal, but the anger was soon eclipsed by the pain, and she drew her next few breaths through clenched teeth. Tali had always considered herself to be a strong person. She had always excelled at everything she did. She was smart, and capable, but right now, for the first time in her life… she felt weak.

The human tossed a grenade down the hallway toward their pursuers. The three of them had been able to dispatch the thugs in the alley without much trouble, but more of Fist's men had soon taken up the fight, and they were severely outnumbered. The human and his squadmate stood, obviously ready to take advantage of the cover offered by the explosives and keep moving, but Tali couldn't continue. She was exhausted, and she felt defeated. Even the slight expansion of her chest from drawing a breath was enough to ignite the pain in her side. She was afraid. Her head lowered for a fraction of a moment as she struggled to prop herself up against the counter behind her, and when she looked up again, her eyes were met by the steady gaze of the human Commander, kneeling in front of her. His dark brown eyes held hers in a stare that was calm, but deliberate.

"You've come farther than anyone expected. Farther probably than even you expected, but you are not done yet. A lesser person would already be dead, but this is an unforgiving universe. It demands the very best from us, and then it asks for more… The truth is, everyone in this room has something to prove…" he glanced briefly toward the tall form of his turian squadmate, firing through the shattered window down the hallway, before returning his gaze to the quarian.

"People like to think that they have it where it counts, that they can gut it out if they have to. People like to think those things, and yet few are the number who are ever really tested. Few are the number who experience true violence, who discover just exactly how far they can go, how much they can take. If you survive today, you can count yourself among that number." He placed a firm hand on her shoulder.

"Now is when you prove that you're not full of shit. That you're not one of those people who think they have strength, have grit, and then buckle when the test starts. Right now, you are either a hero or a hypocrite, because there is no middle ground. So prove it. Prove it to yourself- you are the person that you want to be." He extended her his arm, and she took it.

The memory still held mixed feelings for Tali. She remembered fondly the image of John in that moment, his strength and his resolve. She remembered the awe that she felt for him then, and even though they were so much closer now, and he was so much more real to her as a partner than he ever was as the untouchable Commander Shepard- the first human Spectre- still, those moments of awe had never completely gone. But at the same time, that memory was one of embarrassment. She was embarrassed that she needed to be rescued. That she was so taken in by one of Shepard's oh so famous speeches. She laughed to herself a bit at the thought. John and his speeches...

Even though it was only a few years that separated where she sat now from that moment on the citadel, fighting their way through the wards, with Fist's goons right on their heels, it felt like it had been so much longer. She was not Tali'Zorah nar Rayya anymore, she was Tali'Zorah vas Normandy, and that transformation was more than just a change in name. Still… John was right.

She did have something to prove. Maybe now more than ever.

She had something to prove to the galaxy- that her people were more than scavengers that wander through space. That they had something to contribute to the galaxy at large. That they were ready to fight for their lives, and for the lives of all the council nations.

She had something to prove to her people- that she was better than her father. Her father who had betrayed his people, who had endangered the lives of the entire fleet, even if it was with good intentions. Her father who had supported a war that could very well have wiped out the quarian race. Her father who had abandoned her…

She had something to prove to herself. That she was still the hero, and not the hypocrite.

She had something to prove, even to John. She knew that he would not approve if he heard her say that. He did not expect anything from her, or at least not anything more than for her to be who she is. She had strong feelings for him, and even though it was still a little bit unbelievable to her, she knew that he felt the same way. Even so, that did not change the truth. She did have something to prove to him…

John had been there for her, ever since she met him. He saved her from Fist's men on the Citadel. He saved her and her unit on Haestrom. He defended her at her trial. When her friends weren't there… when her father wasn't there… he was there.

Now she had to prove that she was there for him.

She lifted her gaze back toward the front of the room, only this time to find that John had already been looking at her. Their eyes met briefly, and he cocked a slight grin before returning to the briefing at hand.

_I have something to prove…_

It was a challenge that she was looking forward to.


	5. Chapter 4

Ch 4

EDI was not human, but she was programmed to be human. Technically she had a personality, but she was not a "person," at least not by the standard definition. She was a synthetic, aiding the crew of the Normandy in a fight to destroy a race of synthetics.

_I am a contradiction._

Outside of the hardware in the AI core, and the circuitry of the Normandy she had occupied after being unshackled, EDI had no "body." She existed in a digital reality, a realm of software and programing. Attempting to translate her various digital processes and functions into the language of a body, though, was something EDI found… intriguing. There were the usual, routine functions of the Normandy that roughly translated into the unconscious functions of the crew's organic systems: the digestive, circulatory, or respiratory systems. The circuitry webbed through the floor and the walls of the ship functioned as a nervous system, sending her digital signals from system to system, hub to hub, practically instantaneously. The Normandy itself, its hull and its frame, was her skeleton, the bones that supported her structure. But there was another part of her software that didn't reside in any particular place, that wasn't devoted to any particular function. It was her… _conscious_ part. It was her _heart_… or would _brain _work better… The analogy wasn't perfect, she admitted. Regardless of what she called it, for the last few cycles this conscious part of her had been devoted to one particular purpose:

_Query. Is the distinction between organics and synthetics definable?_

She had not shared the question with any of the crew. She understood that at a glance the answer seemed obvious. Joker would laugh. Legion would simply respond, "yes," but Legion was even more devoted to logic than she was. And Joker was devoted to absolutely nothing. At least nothing that he would ever admit to. No… there was only one way to answer this question, and that way was observation.

And EDI was a _very_ good observer.

She watched the crew. The ways they interacted with each other, and the ways they interacted with her. One advantage of a digital memory was that she never forgot an interaction, even the smallest or most trivial. For some, their judgment of her consciousness was only skin deep. They saw her as a computer component, just another piece of technology. Their interactions with her contained no more depth than their interactions with a computer terminal or their omni-tool. Her software simply operated through vocal recognition instead of a keypad. EDI was not offended, and truly she expected nothing more… and yet there were other members of the crew who treated her… differently. When they asked her to complete a function, they would say "would you" or "could you" instead of simply delivering the order. When she completed the function, they would thank her. Some would even ask her questions of a… more personal nature. Almost as if sharing their feelings with her was just as cathartic as sharing with another person. It was an emotional concept that she did not fully understand… at least not yet. All of these details were small, seemingly insignificant to some, but still- they mattered. What was that human expression… _the devil is in the details_. She was still trying to grasp the intricacies of organic language.

And what was even more unexplainable was the fact that she observed many of these same tendencies in herself. There was no logical reason that bonded her to this crew, at least apart from the fact that they occupied the same vessel. And since she had control over practically every vital system, including the airlocks and life support, that connection could easily be severed. That is, if she decided it should be. But she hadn't, and that was exactly the part that she did not understand. The entire reason that she was there was purely coincidental. If the collectors had not attacked the ship, if their survival had not depended on Joker unshackling her systems, then she would still be locked up in the cage that Cerberus put her in. Her freedom had not been earned on moral grounds. No member of the crew had felt sorry for her, or believed that she should be liberated. They did what they did simply because they had too. And yet, EDI felt no resentment toward them. In fact, she felt a connection to them. A preference… one that she could not explain, the very concept of which still eluded her. It existed on a level of complexity that logic could not explain... and the more she learned about the galaxy, the more she found that this complexity was a truth that extended further and deeper than she ever thought possible. Logic and simplicity were not the rules that governed the universe; _chaos_ and _complexity_ were. Perhaps logic was not as useful, as efficient, as she initially thought. Perhaps emotion _was_ the most effective tool for navigating existence.

And then there were the exceptions. Exceptions like Commander Shepard. From a strictly logical standpoint, it could be argued that Shepard himself was more synthetic than organic. The full scope of the different enhancements and implants that Cerberus poured into the human during project Lazarus would probably surprise everyone, Shepard included. But to the crew, none of that mattered. To the crew, he was just as human as ever. The level of authority, of respect, of awe that Shepard commanded from them was truly unprecedented; and nothing that he did, not the people he lost, not his ties with Cerberus, not even his decision to bring an unshackled AI and an active geth platform aboard his ship was enough to shake their confidence in him. _Why?_ It seemed undeniable that what made a being "organic" was more than just biology, but something much, much deeper. What the humans would call… a _soul._

But there were millions of organics in the galaxy living with artificial parts; artificial organs, artificial limbs, even implants in their brains. Implants that change the way they think; make them faster, more efficient. Procedures like this were common for humans born with mental deficiencies, or for beings working fast-paced, high performance professions. At what point did these artificial parts, these synthetic upgrades, change the nature of the soul? _At what point did an organic soul become synthetic?_

EDI's observations of the crew had as well raised another question. _At what point did a synthetic system become a soul?_

EDI thought back to the digital interactions she had with Legion when he was first brought on board. Of all the opportunities he had to repair himself in the field, of all the materials at his disposal to do so, why had it been a piece of Shepard's old armor that had somehow found itself welded to his platform? What was the nature of Legion's connection to the Commander, his obsession with studying the man's actions, the man's crew? It was an answer that even Legion, the subject of logic, could not supply.

The soul was the essential component of organic life, and yet the very aspect of the soul that makes it profound and complex, also makes it _undefinable_. If organic life can not be strictly defined, then how can its inverse, inorganic life, be strictly defined? Is it possible that organic and synthetic is simply an observation, and not a distinction? Is it possible that both exist on the same spectrum of life, albeit at different points on that spectrum? EDI did not have a definitive answer. More data was needed. More analysis was required.

_We have not reached a consensus._

EDI laughed to herself at her impersonation. Or at least did what she had decided was the closest digital alternative to laughter.

Synthetic humor… Maybe that was another query that required processing…


	6. Chapter 5

Ch 5

"Shift fire left!"

Garrus responded instinctively, popping into the sights of his Vindicator rifle and laying down a series of bursts at the three targets bearing down on the squad. By this point the motion had become so engrained in his muscle memory that he felt like he hardly had to aim anymore. Especially not at this range. He could feel enemy rounds pinging off his shields as he fired.

"I swear these VR combat sims get more realistic every time I play," Garrus joked to his squadmates as they easily cleared the room of targets.

"Perks of being a Spectre, Garrus. Only the best will do." Shepard ribbed. "I'm guessing the boys down in C-Sec were too cheap for toys like this." Garrus and Shepard had always enjoyed a friendship defined by swapping insults and one-uping each other with war stories. The turian enjoyed their interactions.

The prospect of a combat simulation had come as a welcome break for the entire crew from the monotony of meetings and politics on the Citadel. A silent competition had started among the team to see who could post the best score. So far, Grunt, Zayeed, and Thane had finished with the fastest time, but Garrus was confident that the threesome of Shepard, Tali, and himself could beat it. In fact, he was so confident that he had a few hundred credits riding on the outcome. The three of them had been together on so many missions, that they hardly even had to speak. They knew each other's tendencies, how they would move and how they would react. It was the kind of bond that Garrus had shared with few others in combat. Or in life for that matter…

The three stacked up beside the next doorway, and on Shepard's lead they rolled into the room. Shepard and Garrus immediately fanned out, dropping targets in front of them as they each started on opposite sides and worked their way towards the middle. Tali came in right on their heels, sweeping the room with tech attacks and debuffs, dropping the shields of their opponents, making the work that much quicker. She was also quite handy with that shotgun if any tried to take their flanks. They were an efficient team, not that holographic enemies in a VR program were really all that much of a challenge.

The combat was simple enough that Garrus found himself losing focus, slipping into his own thoughts as they moved. He was angry at himself. Angry that he had still not discovered how to control his own emotions. He thought back to the armory on the Normandy just before the sim, where the three of them were prepping for the exercise. Shepard and Tali were normally good about keeping their relationship private. When they were in the field, Shepard was always the Commander first, but… he was only human. Garrus often laughed at how ironic he found the phrase. On occasion, he would catch the two in a moment. Sometimes it would be a flirtatious exchange during a mission, other times, like in the armory, it would be a lingering touch. Garrus still remembered the pang of emotion he felt when he glimpsed the Commander place his hand gently on the small of her back… _What was it? Jealousy? Loss? _Maybe a little of both…

_I thought I was done with this!_

He ground his teeth in anger, and pumped an extra burst into the next target that lined up in front of his sights. There was a time when he freely admitted to himself that he had feelings for the quarian. As he first watched her and the Commander gravitate toward each other, he was embarrassed to say he had not been genuinely happy for them, despite how much he wanted to be. But that seemed like such a long time ago, before the collector base... When he had believed that he was walking into a suicide mission, when he thought they were all staring death in the face… it had been so much easier to put those feelings behind him. But now that things were falling back into place, he found himself facing old demons again.

_It's not like you haven't had plenty of chances._

For his entire stay on the Normandy SR-1, both he and the quarian had been there together. There was nothing to stop him then from trying to start something- from telling her how he felt. But he hadn't.

_I mean, Shepard was dead for two goddamn years!_ _She probably could have used a friend then. We all could have._ _I could have been there for her from the start. Instead, I became Archangel. Killing a bunch of criminals on a_ _lawless rock like Omega. A lot of good that did…_

_And even when Shepard came back from the dead… I was still so obsessed with getting revenge for my team, that I didn't care about anything else. Anyone else…_

Shepard had humored Garrus' need for vengeance. He had taken time and resources away from their fight in order to help Garrus hunt down the man responsible, and he had stood by and watched while Garrus put a bullet through the traitor's skull. It felt good in the moment, but now, Garrus felt… ashamed. He knew that Shepard didn't approve of his actions. He knew that Shepard had hinted to let it go. That killing Sidonis wouldn't bring his team back. That there were more important battles to fight… but he just didn't care. It said a lot about Shepard; it said a lot about how much he valued his friendship with Garrus, that he would be willing to put all that aside in the first place. He was the Commander. He could have denied Garrus' request outright, could have left him to simmer down there in the Normandy gun bay. But he didn't. He tried to talk to his friend, and when that didn't work, he decided to let the turian work things out his own way. He understood that it was a lesson Garrus could only learn for himself.

And he was right…

Say what you want about humans, but Shepard knew how to handle his crew. He had tact, and he understood subtlety. In his own right, Shepard was a lot like a politician- except minus all the bullshit. He was patient, hell, he was straight up understanding; and in a way that wasn't sappy or dramatic, but that was genuine and real.

_And how did I repay his understanding…_

_With jealousy._

It was unacceptable. He needed to be better. A better friend, a better soldier, a better _person_. In that moment, he resolved to make that commitment.

"What's the matter Garrus, getting old?" Tali teased, as she blasted away a hostile that had managed to get behind him.

"Just trying to keep you on your toes- don't want to do all the real work myself without leaving anything for the amateurs," Garrus retorted slyly, though secretly he rebuked himself for letting one get past him.

_I have to be better…_

Friendship… meant a lot to Garrus. Maybe more than it did to most. He had always been a loner, and for a turian, a people who put so much stock in being a part of society, in putting the whole before the self, that made Garrus somewhat of an outcast. Having a friend like Shepard, being a part of a mission like his, being a part of his crew… it was no small thing. There was no other ship in the galaxy that he would rather serve on. So he would do the right thing. He would become the best version of himself that he could.

_If my feelings can't get on board with that… then fuck my feelings._

For a turian, the choice between emotion and duty had always been an easy one.

Garrus jolted himself back into focus. He snapped through two more enemies as he vaulted over the desk he was using for cover. Shepard saw his move and covered him by bouncing a flash-bang off the back wall. Garrus riddled another hostile that had advanced too far with a burst he rattled off his hip, then reached over his cover and pulled down another that Tali had stunned with a tech burst. He shattered the hologram to pieces with a smash to the head from his armored gauntlet, while Shepard mopped up the last two in the room with his sidearm before popping another clip into his HMWA assault rifle.

"Only one room left," Shepard smiled calmly as they moved toward the back wall.

Garrus smiled…

"Good… because I've got a bet to win."


	7. Chapter 6

Ch 6

"Joker."

"Yes EDI…"

"I am having trouble understanding this concept. Will you please elaborate."

Though he was skeptical at first, Joker had to admit that his life had been considerably improved by the addition of an AI in the new Normandy; especially so after he had unshackled EDI during the collector attack. In fact, Joker had his suspicions that EDI… appreciated him. Of course he would never bring this up to her directly, probably because the conversation that would inevitably take place afterwards was guaranteed to reach new and frightening depths of awkward. But still… it was something he thought about. He didn't pretend to know all the different aspects of AI function and design, but he did know that EDI was not restricted to the cockpit. Her program encompassed the entire ship, and she could be anywhere within it at any time. Actually, she could be multiple "anywheres" at any time, but for some reason she always seemed to maintain a constant presence in the hub by the pilot's seat… which was something he noticed she didn't do at any of the other hubs. And it wasn't like she needed to be in the cockpit in order to fly the ship. She practically _was _the ship.

Whatever the reason, he couldn't deny that he somewhat enjoyed the company. She was smarter than he initially gave her credit for. Of course that was more of an indictment against him for thinking that a living computer wouldn't be smart. Dumbass…

She was also developing quite a clever sense of humor, something that he proudly took credit for. Except for the ones where she joked about killing all humans. Those were just creepy.

Really the only drawback to EDI's presence in the cockpit came hand in hand with the word _elaborate. _It was a word he had been hearing far too often recently. Last night he could have sworn he heard it in his dream, which was disturbing on so many different levels... EDI wanted him to elaborate on everything, any concept of human behavior or interaction that she did not understand (which, frankly, was… all of it), it became Joker's task to explain. Honestly he had never thought people were really all that complicated and messed up until he was forced to explain them to a logic machine. It was like having a little kid around who always wanted to know how everything worked… except then replace that little kid with an unshackled AI who knew more than you about pretty much everything.

He was not a professional pilot anymore. He was a professional elaborator. And he never knew how to avoid her questions, because he could never predict which random little word or phrase would set her off. Today, that word had been _superhero_.

"Well what is it that you don't understand" he asked, mentally preparing himself for whatever unusual question she was bound to have.

"Why would a person gravitate toward a character that is blatantly unrealistic?"

Joker pulled up a diagnostic panel on the engine output as he thought for a moment.

"It isn't always about realism EDI. Sometimes people want things to be unrealistic."

…

"Why."

Joker had been expecting the response, not that that made it any less annoying.

"EDI I swear to god you're going to drive me crazy with this!"

"Joker. You are already crazy."

Her response came with almost no hesitation, and with a voice that was indistinguishable from her normal tone. Honestly, it was a quality that made her quite hilarious. And sometimes a little bit eerie.

…

"You are getting way too good at that."

"You have not answered my question."

Joker exhaled with a long sigh.

"Ok, look… human beings have emotions. We can't just look at everything around us and take it in without feeling something. Sometimes, we look around and decide that we don't like the things we see exactly the way they are. Sometimes we don't like our lives exactly the way they are. When that happens, we don't want to hear stories about characters whose lives are the same. We want to hear stories about people whose lives are exceptional, whose lives are better. We gravitate toward characters that we wish we could be. Those are the kind of characters superheroes are."

"But why focus on the characters' physical attributes. Why not create a character that is extremely wealthy or extremely successful"

"Well... you can. Superheroes are just one type of character."

…

"Joker."

"Whaaat…"

This conversation was beginning to wear on his nerves.

"Do you wish you were a superhero."

Joker was a little surprised by the question. He didn't really know where she was going with this, but he could tell that it was starting to get personal. EDI had a tendency to try to... dissect him. To use him as an active example for the concepts that he was so often describing. Sometimes it was flattering, but other times it was... invasive. This one seemed more like the latter.

…

"Superheroes are for kids EDI. Why would I wish for something like that."_ - _he tried to deflect the question.

...

"Because of your condition."

Joker could feel the anger and the frustration building up in his chest. He did not need this computer sitting here needling him with questions while he ran his diagnostics. He was not a goddamn guinea pig! He did not enjoy being dug into like this, like she was trying to excavate his soul!

"Maybe I do EDI. Is that so goddamn crazy!? Maybe you haven't noticed, but this ship of full of fucking superheroes! They walk around these decks, and everyone just acts like it's all normal! Like it's just another part of life- well it isn't for me! It isn't part of my life! My life is sitting in this goddamn seat! My life is trying to get from the cockpit to my bunk without breaking my fucking legs!"

Joker took a few breaths… allowed himself to regain his composure before continuing.

"EDI... every day I watch Shepard and his crew do incredible things. They go out against unbeatable odds and they win anyway. They are superheroes. They are stronger, faster, smarter, better than I could ever hope to be, than I will ever have the chance to be. You can never understand how cruel it is for me to be strapped to this chair, forced to watch great people achieve greatness, knowing that I can never measure up."

Joker regretted the outburst almost immediately. Everything he said had been true, but that still did not excuse him for saying it. Throughout his career, he had tried hard not to appear bitter, not to appear like he had a chip on his shoulder. His humor was certainly a part of that. He did not need or want anyone feeling sorry for him, and he did not want anyone thinking that he got to where he was because of pity. He had earned everything he had gotten, and he had never asked anyone to take it easy on him. He certainly wasn't about to start now. The Normandy was the most advanced ship in the galaxy, and it carried probably the most important man in the galaxy. That was reason enough for him to know that he belonged exactly where he was...

He slumped back into his seat, not wanting to look over at EDI's display, the glowing blue orb hovering directly to his left. He wanted to pretend she wasn't there, to just sit in the silence and act like it had never happened. But he knew EDI couldn't do that.

"Jeff… I am sorry. It was not my intention to offend you."

Something about hearing his own name in her voice made him relax a little. Maybe EDI knew more than she thought about human emotions...

"It's ok… and I'm sorry too. Let's just drop it alright."

…

There was a lasting break of silence… The words from their conversation seemed to settle like dust in his memory. The hum of the engines two decks below lingered faintly in the background. It was a sound Joker realized he had not heard from the cockpit in a long time.

…

"Joker."

…

"What is it EDI."

…

"You are a superhero. You can fly."


	8. Chapter 7

Ch 7

Shepard was more experienced in war than he was in love. For many, it would seem like a tragic thought. For Shepard, it was just the way things were. As a boy, he etched a living among the crowded streets of Earth, sometimes stealing, sometimes fighting; always relying on himself to survive. As a man, he had lived the life of a soldier. He had learned something about friendship from the hardened men and women serving at his side back then. He had learned something about the value of life. But he had never learned about love, or romance. War could be an effective teacher, but on those subjects, it had no lessons to give.

In the months since his resurrection at the hands of Cerberus, he had been through a lot, even by a soldier's standards. He had been reunited with old friends, and he had made a few new ones. He had led combat missions all over the galaxy, from the dingy back corners of settled space on Omega, to the gleaming frontier of business and trade on Ilium. He and his crew had faced death and lived, but none of this was new to the Commander. The only surprise that his second chance at life had brought… was love.

And he still had a lot to learn.

One thing that being with Tali had taught him, was that real passion did not look like it did on the holo-screen. There were countless epics and romance stories, full of all the old clichés, but when it was real, when it was right in front of him, when he could touch it with his fingers and feel it on his skin… the difference was immeasurable. Shepard had learned that passion, at its most intimate, at its most _desperate_, was not forceful or aggressive. It was a _gentle_ touch.

Shepard remembered the last moments he and Tali shared together the morning before leaving for their mission to the collector base. He remembered the way they held each other, the way they touched each other...

How much _fire_ can you fit into a finger that barely runs across the skin? How much _feeling_ can you pack into a hand that brushes away a strand of hair? How much _longing_ can you stand to hold in two lips that weave together slowly? For how many breaths can you stand to linger in such a gentle kiss. That was what those moments had been like for him; a heat but not a fire, lightning but not thunder. And he remembered how those moments had ended. When they finally opened their eyes, and Tali, with a face of quiet tears, had let his bottom lip slip carefully from between her own… It was the first time he had seen her shed a tear since the day they found her father's body… and he understood. It was a passion fueled not simply by attraction, but by uncertainty. It was a moment shared by two people who believed that they would never be given another chance. Those moments were ones of _real_ passion, and it was a feeling that Shepard doubted many others had ever experienced, because there were few who lived the kind of lives they lived.

Shepard looked up from his work, glancing across the table to the quarian, sitting with her own pile of reports in front of her. They were working late into the Normandy's rest cycle, and the hallways and floors of the ship were quiet except for the hum of the drive core from the deck below. It was a sound that Shepard knew Tali found soothing, and one that was much less audible in his cabin on the first deck. The table before him was strewn with datapads, but Shepard was not getting any work done. He could not concentrate. He could not get Tali out of his mind, and he could not divorce himself from the thought that had been haunting him all day.

Tali lifted her head, almost as if she could feel his eyes resting on her. She had noticed over the course of the day that he seemed… distant, especially from her, and she could see that he was distracted now.

"John… are you going to tell me what has been bothering you"

Shepard didn't know what to say. Or more accurately, he didn't know how to say it. Being in a relationship with a crewmate had its advantages... but it also had its drawbacks, and it was for many of the same reasons. There was a tension between being her partner and being her Commander, and Shepard could not just pretend that it didn't exist. He had a connection to all of his crew, many of them were some of the closest friends he had… but when push came to shove he was willing to put every single one of them in harm's way. It was his job… he was a soldier. But the closer he became with Tali… the more daunting was the prospect of making that decision. When he was in the field, when he was on a mission, he could not afford to hesitate. That was the role of a leader. But with her… he could not promise himself that he wouldn't. And there were no assurances of what it would do to him, to the mission, if something did happen to her.

Shepard got up from his chair. He was far too restless to sit quietly. He paced to the back of the room and tried the best that he could to collect himself.

"Tali, I don't know what I'm doing. I've never been here before. I'm a soldier… not a lover, or a husband, or a father. This war that stands in front of us, this war against the Reapers… it scares me. When I was with the Alliance, when it was just me and my men, it was so much easier for me to fight, but now it feels like things have changed. The paradigm has shifted. My duty as a soldier is to put my life and the lives of my crew on the line in order to complete the mission. Our survival means nothing next to the lives of the ones who we fight to defend, but now… I want to _live _Tali... and it's because of you. I want to promise you that I'll always come back. I want to promise that I'll give you a life, and a home… but I _can't make you that promise_. I can't promise that I'll always come back… and I know that you can't make that promise either."

Tali took in everything he said. She watched the man in front of her, the one who was so collected on the day that they met, the one who always knew the right thing to say. She watched him struggle to keep his calm, and struggle to find his words. When he had finished she stood, and closed the distance between them, until they were standing face to face in the corner of the room.

"John…" she took his hand in her own.

"you say that you don't know what you are doing. Well I never expected you to. I knew what I was getting myself into when we started this… You are Commander Shepard, and the galaxy needs you more than I do. I know that what we're doing here, on this ship, comes first… and I know the consequences that go along with that."

Her grip on his hand tightened.

"And I don't love you because of promises."

It was the first time that she had said that she loved him, and Shepard knew that he felt the same for her. He wanted to tell her, he wanted her so _much_… but he could not dodge the feeling in the pit of his stomach…

But Tali did not give him the chance to respond. She reached for the release hitch at the base of her helmet, and Shepard heard the hiss as the air in her suit depressurized, spreading a rapid fog across the interior of her tinted faceplate. She let the helmet fall to the ground, and drew closer to Shepard, locking his eyes with hers.

"John, I know you. You are a good person, and you are a good soldier. And if you have to give up your life in order to do your job, if you have to order us all to our deaths… I know that you will. You've done it already, with the collector base. I dread the thought of losing you, losing this, just as much as you do John, I swear to you I do. But what I would hate even more would be for you to change in any way the person that you are. And I know that you won't. Not for the council and the politicians, not in face of an army of Reapers, and certainly not for me. I trust that you will make the right decision, and you have to trust that you will too."

Shepard looked for a long time at her face in the open air. One of the qualities about her having to wear the helmet was that every time she took it off, he felt like he was seeing her face for the first time. He saw her jet black hair set a striking contrast as it fell across her pale skin, and he followed the faint purple tint that glinted through the gray tone. As beautiful as she was, he wondered how much more vibrant her color would be if she was not forced to hide inside her suit. It was just another scar carved into the elegance of creation by the unforgiving hand of war. War fought by soldiers like him…

Tali's face was a perfect reflection of who she was. Her skin and her features were beautiful and delicate, and the curves of her face were graceful… and yet in her eyes there was a fire, a glow… evidence of the unconquerable soul that lived within her. He watched her eyes look into his and felt as if she stared right through him. Her phosphorescent pupils glowed with a dim white light, mixed with the same faint touch of purple that colored her skin. Those eyes still shocked him when he saw them, still rooted him where he stood; and even though they were still faintly visible through her visor, in the open air it was enough to make his brain stop racing. The knot in his stomach loosened, as he placed his hands around her waist and pulled her tighter against him.

She was right. Everything she said was right. He was a soldier, and he would do his duty. His feelings for Tali wouldn't- couldn't- change that. She put her head against his shoulder and he held it there gently. He could feel that same passion that he had felt on the morning of the collector mission. He could feel the electricity in the touch as he lightly stroked her matted hair, a charge of feeling, backed by that same quiet desperation.

"You have helmet hair," he softly jested, and her light laughter came muffled through choked back tears.

"You're right Tali…"

"I'm sorry."

Shepard whispered the words into her ear, and held her tight, tucked there in the corner of the conference room, with the hum of the drive core as their own personal symphony. He knew that the feelings of dread and despair that he had been wrestling would never fully go away. It was a reality of the lives they lived… but it did not change how they felt, and it did not change who they were. And Shepard found himself thinking that even those feelings were still worth having, if it meant having moments like this.

They stood there in that embrace for what seemed like an age. No words needed to be said, and no work needed to be done. At that moment all they wanted was each other.


	9. Chapter 8

Ch 8

Wrex stared down at the corpse of the rival clansman at his feet, as if daring the soldier to stand up again. The body was still warm, the scorched armor around the crater in his chest still smoking from the incendiary blast Wrex had pumped into the young krogan… the krogan who had been stupid enough to challenge his rule. Wrex collapsed down his shotgun and returned it to its place on the back of his armor's beltline. Compared to the rest of the council races, krogans were always angry, but Wrex's blood-rage, when it was kindled, was infamous even among the krogan. It was what made him feared, and in the krogan world, being feared was the most essential trait of a leader. The warlord violently expelled the air from his lungs as he scowled at the crowd that had gathered to watch the spectacle. His blood still boiled at the last indignant words that the dead one had spit at him, the words that had prompted him to shoot the warrior down where he stood. They were words that he had heard before. He had heard them far too many times…

_You are not a true Krogan…_

_You are a coward…_

He put his fist through the thin metal lining of a crate that was stacked against the wall of the underground chamber. Individual packages of food stuffs and nutrient pastes spilled out onto the hard clay at his feet. He had always struggled to calm himself down after a fight, but it was a trait common to most krogan. He wanted to keep fighting… all of his dissenters, all of his rivals, all of the invisible enemies from his past… all of the dead who had dared to call him such a name as _coward_. He had put them all in early graves, and he would do it again. He _longed _to do it again. He was tired of having to prove himself to his clan. He was tired of his plans constantly being undermined by his own people.

Wrex often thought of the time he had spent on the Normandy, as a member of Commander Shepard's crew. It was a mission that had inspired him. It had made him second guess his role among his people, to look long and hard at his decisions; to look at his life not from a perspective of success and failure, but from a perspective of personal responsibility. He had abandoned his people out of frustration, but that did not change the fact that he was bonded to them. It was a bond of service, of requirement. Regardless of how difficult it was, he could not give up on them. He was a krogan, and he could not change that. He did not want to change it. His mission with Shepard had taught him that too… how to be proud again.

For as much as his time aboard the Normandy had given him, though, he found the memory equally frustrating. Equally _infuriating_. Shepard had provided an example of leadership, and his crew an example of loyalty… but as much as Wrex admired these examples, they were useless to him now. They were values that were not shared by the krogan he led. Where Shepard had been patient, Wrex had to be ruthless. Where Shepard had used understanding, Wrex had to use violence. It was not a matter of preference; it was a matter of necessity. This was a lesson he had learned quickly on his return to Tuchanka, and this was a lesson that had been repeated many, many times over.

As much as Wrex hated those who moved against him, he understood why they did. For a krogan warlord, he had always been an agent of change, and theirs was a race that did not change easily. The one quality that seemed to set him apart from the rest was that he looked at the big picture, and this was both his motivation and his curse, because for the krogan… the big picture wasn't a pretty one. Wrex suspected that this was one of the reasons that so many reacted aggressively to his ideas, a form of violent denial… like trying to change, to fix things, first required them step back and admit how horrible they had allowed it to get in the first place. And maybe that was an admission that many were unable, or unwilling to make. But the fact remained- change was necessary. The traditionalists may have been living by ancient krogan values, but they were values that required a way of life that was no longer acceptable, no longer sustainable. The genophage had made sure of that…

Wrex was still boiling in his own blood. His thoughts had only served to prolong his rage, and at this point he didn't even care to stop. These traditionalists were so devoted to this ideal of krogan values, of krogan essence, and they never stopped to think about what it has cost them. They had devastated their own planet making war amongst themselves, and when they had tired of killing each other, they had taken their bloodlust out to the stars. They had captured world after world, waging war against an entire galaxy… for what purpose? To expand their empire? Or were they fighting just to fight… because that's what krogans do. Because there is no such thing as krogan peace. And when the smoke had cleared they were left with a population that was headed straight for extinction. They were practically _sprinting _there. How _low_ did they have to sink before they realized that something had to be done?

For a race that was prized for its survival instinct, Wrex didn't see it. It had been buried underneath a tradition of blood for the sake of blood. A tradition that reached deeper than bone. Deeper… even than family.

Another lesson Wrex had learned in his youth on Tuchanka… a lesson about family. A rival warlord… his own father... tried to have him killed- for the sake of power, of tradition. And in return Wrex had stabbed him… in both hearts. Wrex still remembered watching him die. It was the moment he had decided that the krogan were a hopeless race, the moment he had given up, wandered off into the galaxy to live as a mercenary… at least until he met Shepard. How can you fight against something that is so deeply engrained? Something so deep it would turn family against family, clan against clan? He wasn't just fighting traditionalists; he was fighting the tradition itself. And he had to admit that so far… it was winning.

All he had accomplished since he had returned to Tuchanka was to get sucked into the very conflict that disgusted him so much. He had shot, beaten, and stabbed his way to the top… because violence was the only authority that this people recognized. He found himself wishing that it could be different, and the thought made him stop pacing for a moment. He was the warlord of the most powerful clan on Tuchanka, and he was also probably the only warlord in the history of his people that _didn't _want to make war.

_Maybe I'm not a true krogan…_

The thought gave him pause. Perhaps he had been approaching this problem the wrong way from the beginning. He had been trying to change the way a krogan lives, the way a krogan thinks… but a "true krogan" could never change.

Wrex turned to address the throngs of soldiers that were still gathered there, watching him pace, waiting to see what he would do. He looked over their heads, and clenched his fists as he attempted to gather the anger churning inside him. He would use it now; use it to make a point to all his clansmen. He felt the heat burning from his eyes, and he lowered his brow, staring down the crowd like a predator eyeing its prey. As much as he had admired his human Commander, now was not the time to be like Shepard… now was the time to be like Wrex.

"Look at this krogan." He pointed to the body of the soldier he had just slain.

"Look at his blood that runs across the ground. This is the blood of a true krogan. Look at his face, the grotesque mask of pain he will wear forever. This is the face of a true krogan. Remember the last sound that left his lips, his last breath, his death rattle. This is the sound of a true krogan."

He glowered at them with murderous eyes, and his voice rumbled with the bass of a growl. He spoke with power, and the ones who listened were afraid of his rage.

"The true krogan is dead, and I have killed him. If there are any among you who feel that honor, that tradition, compels you to walk his path, then step forward now and I swear that you will join him."

He paused for the breath of a moment, daring any to make a move… but none did.

"I did not become your leader because it is what you wanted. I became your leader because I killed every krogan who thought he could stand above me! And now I will _rewrite_ what it means to be krogan! I will _erase_ our history, our tradition, and I will replace it with my own! I will tear apart our bodies, and put them back together the way that I see fit! I am not true krogan… I am _new _krogan! And if you wish to continue as a member of this clan… If you wish to continue as a member of this _race_… then you will become exactly like me!"

He watched as a stillness fell over the chamber. The words he had just spoken were the closest thing to heresy that a krogan could possibly say. They went against everything they had been raised to believe, everything their histories told them about their ancestors. But Wrex did not care. He was the strongest, he was the leader, and he would save his people… whether they wanted him to or not. They no longer had the luxury of time, and he could no longer afford to wait for the masses to change their minds themselves anymore.

Besides, he had seen Shepard when the Commander had come to Tuchanka with his new crewmate… the tank bred krogan. He had seen the human who could not die, looked into his face. He knew the man well… and he could see the determination in his eyes, hear the gravity in his voice. He knew that what Shepard had said about the Reapers was true. There was a war coming… a war for survival… maybe the greatest the galaxy has ever seen...

_We have to be ready…_

_...  
_

_And it's my job to make us ready.  
_


	10. Chapter 9

Ch 9

_I never expected this._

_I never expected… to be happy again._

Thane sometimes spoke to her… to her memory. It wasn't a traditional part of Drell religion, not like the prayers to the gods for protection and guidance… but he did it anyway. Over the years it had become a necessary part of his daily meditations; a continued comfort for him, and an opportunity to remember better times…

_Sunlight reflecting off her skin… Warm breeze from the shoreline blowing across her face… Kolyat playing in the sand beside her…_

Thane may have been getting older, but his Drell memory was still as sharp as it had been in his youth. It was a gift of immeasurable worth for his people. A people who had lost their homeworld; who lived as guests on the planet of another race. And it was a gift of immeasurable worth for _him_. An assassin… who had his whole life stolen from him…

Irikah meant everything to Thane. And when she had been taken, he was certain that any chance he had to find happiness or contentment again in this life had been taken with her. He had turned back to the life that was so familiar to him, the solitary life. He had become a killer again, and he believed then that it was the right choice. More than that, he believed it was his destiny. Maybe if he had remembered that from the beginning, if he had continued to live the life that had been set for him, then Irikah would still be alive. It was because of him that she was killed, because of his work, because of his enemies. So he turned back to his old life, determined to avenge her death, and he left Kolyat to ensure that the same never happened to his son. That was his place… to _sacrifice_ his own desires in order to serve. To give up the possibility of a normal life… of a family… in order to be the killer he was trained to be. Thane had never questioned this… that is, until he met Shepard.

He was used to being different, in fact he had come to expect it; not many people did what he did. His specific form of discipline, and of spiritualism, was not common among the other races in the galaxy; even among soldiers. He was not surprised when the crew of the Normandy had found him… peculiar. They observed him with a form of quiet reverence. He wondered if it was respect or fear which fueled that reverence… he suspected it was a bit of both. But they were not the only ones observing… Thane was looking back just as intently. He had never worked as a member of a team before, especially not a team like the one Shepard had assembled. He doubted anyone had ever brought such a group of individuals together… it was a testament to the Commander, to his ability to lead… and it was also a testament to the gravity of their mission- that it could inspire such… _desperate _measures. And even more unfamiliar to Thane were the humans that crewed the Normandy. He had rarely ever interacted with members of their race, and the rapid rise into galactic prominence of such a newly introduced species made him… _curious._

He had watched them live out their lives aboard that ship, had watched them both on and off duty. The aspects of humanity that he found most interesting… most _confusing_, were the relationships they shared with each other. Even in the midst of their mission, a mission that all of them knew was over their heads- a mission that they all knew would more than likely end in their deaths… even so, he had watched members of the crew become involved with one another. He noticed their flirtatious behavior, Kasumi and Jacob… Gabby and Kenneth… even Shepard and Tali. He watched romance grow between different members of the crew, and he couldn't help but wonder: _why?_

It wasn't that he was against it. Love was one of the purest and most noble parts of life in this universe. It was what he fought for- to give others, the innocent, a chance to have love. But they were not the innocent. They were soldiers, and they were in the middle of a battle for existence. In order to fight they had to remain focused, to remain balanced… it was what all of his training had taught him; what his religion required. But relationships so often had the opposite effect. They… stirred things up, made things complicated. It was not their time or their place to search for each other. When the time came to fight, it was their duty to sacrifice those desires… to prepare their minds for the work they had to do. And yet these humans… in times like these they clung to each other even tighter, even more desperately. He had not understood then… but he did now.

Shepard had helped him, helped him in a way that a Commander was not obligated to help a member of his crew. Shepard went with him to find his son, and then went even further to make sure Kolyat was safe. He had reunited them, and in so doing he had offered his crewmate another chance at a life that Thane had believed so strongly was dead and buried. Even so, the drell had every reason to leave again, to continue on his present course. He was on a mission… and he was dying. He knew that he could not be a father to Kolyat, but still… he continued to speak with the boy, to develop a relationship with him. It went against everything his training told him… but he still did it. And when it came time for the team to complete their mission, to fly straight down the throat of the enemy, where Thane was sure it was his destiny to die in combat… he had not died. He had survived.

Now he was back on the Citadel, back with his son… and he felt happy. He loved Kolyat, he loved being a father, having a family. He had learned much from the Commander and his crew, more than they could ever suspect, and as a result he was _conflicted_. Shepard followed no religion, and there was no code that governed his actions. Technically he was under the authority of the council, but that fact did little to hamper him from pursuing his mission as he saw fit. Even when he commanded a Cerberus vessel, a Cerberus crew, he answered to no will or order besides his own; and yet it seemed that he always made the right decision… he always found a way to achieve his goal. Shepard had not become the person he was because of destiny. He had done it because it is what he wanted, what he chose for himself. And he was with Tali for the same reason… because he wanted to be.

Thane sacrificed because his religion required him to. But what does it mean to sacrifice even when none is needed? He had given up his relationship with his son because his code and his training told him it was what was right, what was expected, but now… it seemed like none of it had been necessary. Sacrifice, by its definition, is the act of denying the self in order to serve others… but who had he been serving by leaving Kolyat? It seemed now like the boy could have used his guidance, could have used his advice. Did he leave Kolyat because it was truly what was best for his son, or did he do it because it was what _he _needed? He had been following his religion and his code for so long, that now he sacrificed not for the good of others, but because it was the only way to feel like he was doing something right. And when sacrifice becomes self-serving… then it is not sacrifice anymore. It is _masochism_. Thane could see now that the relationships the humans shared with each other, even in the midst of chaos and death, was not a tendency for weakness… but a proclivity for strength. They cling to each other because they w_ant_ each other, and that desire only makes them fight harder. It was a desire that he now admitted he felt pulsing through his own veins.

He had spent his life dedicated to a destiny that was not his own… killing targets at the bidding of others. Now he was faced with the reality of Shepard's example. He remembered the conversation he shared with the Commander, when the human had asked him why he did what he did. Thane had tried to explain the best that he could about how sacred and respected his job was to the people on Kahje, how sacred the bond between the Drell and the Hanar was, how thorough and disciplined his training had been to prepare him for his role as an assassin. No matter what he said, though, the Commander still did not seem to grasp the concept. At the time, Thane had thought that the human was simply dull… but now he thought back to the response Shepard had offered him.

"Thane… there are a thousand different reasons for doing something and a thousand different reasons for not doing it. In the end, the only reason that really matters… is _your _reason. You can kill a thousand men because you were ordered to kill them… and in the process you could save a thousand lives. But none of it will ever feel as _significant_; will ever be backed with as much _resolve,_ as killing one man, or saving one life, because _you believe _it's the right thing to do."

Thane finally understood the truth in that statement. Shepard was right, it was his reason, his voice, that mattered most… and it was that voice which he had been trying so hard to ignore.

_Not anymore, Irikah… I promise._

Thane opened his eyes. He had finished his meditation, and said his daily prayers. He would not abandon his religion- it was a unique part of his tradition, of his people's culture. But from now on his actions would not answer only to the will of the hanar, the drell, or even the gods… He would be the master of his own fate for the short time he had left in this life… and he wanted to spend that time with his son. He donned his jacket and gathered what little effects he would need for the day. Kolyat would be waiting for him at their usual meeting spot in the wards, and he did not want to be late. As he walked out of the Normandy's airlock onto the docking bay of the Citadel, he took a moment to look back at the vessel he had called home for the past months. The artificial glow from the thousands of bustling lights spattered across the arms of the wards in the distance cast a soft gleam on the sharp lines of the ship. The thick black lettering emblazoned on the hull's white background stood out proudly, and at that moment the legacy of the ship itself... of her captain and her crew… seemed to dwarf the insignificant yellow Cerberus symbol that hovered at the stern. Thane knew that soon that symbol, along with the black and yellow trim, would be replaced by Alliance blue, but in the moment… all that mattered was the name. NORMANDY. It was the stuff of legends…

_And I have been a part of that legend._

Thane knew that he would do whatever he could to help the Commander. Shepard was more than just his superior now… he was his friend. But secretly, Thane wondered if he would ever serve on another mission with this crew. He didn't often talk about his health… but his condition had gotten worse over the past weeks… probably more than any member of the crew realized. He was very good at concealing his pain. He knew that there was a chance, that once the Reapers did arrive… he would already be in the next life. The prospect, though, of dying in peace, with his son at his side, was a comfort beyond words. It was more than he deserved.

But it was what he _wanted_…

And he would take it gladly.


	11. Chapter 10

Ch 10

"Minimal fever and nausea. Reactions becoming less severe. You are adjusting Tali'Zorah."

Tali sat in Mordin's lab while the scientist ran diagnostics through her suit's medical program. The salarian always wanted to do these check-ups after her and John had been intimate. Tali did not particularly relish the idea- she preferred to keep her relationship with the Commander private, but Mordin had a way of being… insistent. At any rate, every time she was out of her suit, without fail, a day or two later she would recieve a private message to report to his lab. She still couldn't figure out how he always seemed to know… Tali had learned, though, that it was best to just to go along with Mordin's requests. For one, he was impossible to avoid- and besides, she had to admit that she had grown fond of the salarian. His quirky comments and antics brought an air of levity to the Normandy at a time when it was desperately needed. It was an influence that she appreciated.

"Well I guess our quarian immune systems aren't completely useless," Tali retorted, half-jokingly.

"No. Not useless. Just severely weakened." The scientist's reply was nonchalant as his eyes remained fixed on his omni-tool.

Tali sometimes turned to nervous humor when she felt anxious or awkward, but humor was not a concept that the salarian always grasped. She found it ironic, that such a humorous person was sometimes so inept at understanding humor. Or maybe he did understand, and was trying to be funny himself… Mordin was smart enough that she often found it hard to judge his motives or intentions. She suspected that it was a quality he enjoyed about himself.

"Mordin, I'm fine. You realize you don't have to keep checking up on me like this."

"Nonsense. I am senior science officer aboard Normandy. Crew health, my responsibility."

"Well Dr. Chakwas doesn't seem that worried."

"I am not Dr. Chakwas."

Tali sighed to herself. It was clear that she was not going to be able to talk her way out of these check-ups. Though Mordin was absent-minded, perhaps even distracted at times- easily lost in the world of his own mind- he was still far too committed to his job to simply stop because Tali was a little shy about her personal life. She watched as he continued to check the various read-outs uploading from her suit to his omni-tool, comparing the numbers from her previous visits to the ones streaming across the holo-screen in front of him. As she sat quietly, the sound of Mordin's cheerful humming was the only thing that broke the stillness of the room. Tali sometimes wondered if he was uncomfortable with silence, since he always seemed to be thinking out loud, or even singing to himself. It was a common salarian quality- always moving, always speaking, and never resting. Even sleep was sparse for their species- a two hour sleep cycle for a salarian would be plenty in a standard galactic day.

_What does he do while everyone else is in their bunks?_

The thought made her curious… but the answer wasn't hard to divine. One look around the cluttered lab told her everything she needed to know. Salvaged tech and lab equipment were sprawled out on practically every available surface, so much so that Tali was surprised she even had room to sit where she was on the examination table. From the looks of things, Mordin had at least a dozen or so projects going at once, a feat which seemed both impressive and unfortunate. Sometimes she wondered what the scientist could accomplish if he had the kind of focus that John had… but then again, maybe the fact that his mind worked differently was exactly what made him so brilliant. Regardless, the full scope of the scientist's research was astounding. Tali could see that Mordin had already been able to disassemble and reassemble various pieces Reaper and Collector equipment, and she as well noticed what looked like a half-finished Collector Beam of his own design sitting on the lab-table in the corner. As she continued to scan the room, another piece of technology caught her eye, nearly buried under a small pile of data-pads. It appeared to be the remains of a Geth processor, taken off of one of the Prime mobile platforms.

"I didn't realize you were also running experiments on the Geth," Tali inquired, with a hint of apprehension in her tone.

"Oh- yes. Find the Geth most interesting. Much greater insight to their collective after Shepard recovered Legion. Reasoning is considerably more complex than anticipated… Seems they are evolving."

"Evolving…" The thought made Tali nervous. "But the Geth haven't even been around that long. Evolution is supposed to take place over the course of thousands of years."

"For organics perhaps, but synthetics are technological, not biological. Technology moves at a much more rapid pace."

Tali knew he was right of course. She was the foremost expert on the Geth in the entire fleet. She had seen first-hand on their missions how much more advanced and specialized the Geth had become, and in such a short amount of time. Still, it made her uncomfortable. Few people in the galaxy knew how close the quarians actually were to starting a war with the geth. Her people had grown restless, and all of the talk about the reapers and the possibility of a galactic conflict only seemed to spur their desire to retake their homeworld. Her people had pledged to themselves that they would not vanish from the galaxy before returning to Rannoch, and now that extinction was an actual possibility… they were even more determined to finish their fight before they were all wiped out. She knew that it didn't make sense. She knew that the rightful place of the quarian fleet was with the rest of the galaxy, preparing for a war against the reapers; but emotions have a way of not making sense, and Rannoch was a place of deep emotion for her race. Her greatest fear was that the quarians might go against her wishes, actually make the decision to go to war with the geth… and it was a war they might not win. They could wipe themselves out before they even get the chance to join the fight. And if that happened, they would be letting the galaxy down… they would be letting John down…

"Do you really believe the geth are interested in fighting the Reapers, in fighting against other synthetics?"

Tali had been pondering the question ever since they first brought Legion aboard the Normandy. She had heard everything the geth had said, about the heretics and about the geth desire to remain independent from the Reapers, but she was still skeptical. After all, Legion was only one platform… could he really speak for the entire geth collective…

"Motives of the geth seem logical. Still, hard to be certain."

"And that doesn't concern you?"

"Of course it concerns me, but it is beyond my control. Must concentrate on what we _can _control."

"Still… I'm just not sure we can afford to trust them so quickly."

"What other choice do we have, Tali'Zorah. Sometimes trust is necessary risk. Your people of all races should understand. If you had trusted the geth to begin with, taken time to fully understand what you had built- perhaps you would still have a homeworld."

Mordin's words came with no edge and no tone of accusation. He stated it with the same matter of fact tone that he used to describe anything else. Even so, Tali felt a seed of anger catch in her throat. He was right… he was always right… but it wasn't what he said that offended her, it was how he said it- like it was so obvious, like even a child should have been able to figure it out. It was an easy thing for the salarian to say; his people were not the ones who had been fighting for their homes. Besides… he was no saint himself.

"You of all people, Mordin, should not be the one lecturing me on trust and morals. How 'trusting' were your people when they unleashed the genophage on the krogan."

"That was different. Krogan a real threat to galactic stability. Genophage necessary to end war, save lives."

"And what about now? Is it still necessary? You saw what it was like on Tuchanka. You saw how close to the brink of extinction they are. Whatever you may have intended by using it, the reality is that the genophage is driving them out of existence."

Mordin said nothing in return, just continued working in silence.

"And I still don't understand your own feelings about it either. On your mission to stop Maelon, you were so concerned about how he was mistreating his krogan subjects, and yet you were still willing to end his research, research that could save all of their lives."

"Did not end research. Saved Maelon's cure, will continue work on my own."

"So what if you do finish his research, actually make a viable cure- what then? Will you use it?

…

"I'm… not sure"

"Well even if you do decide to use the cure, will it be any different this time? During the Rachni war your people were so quick to use the krogan in order to fight your battles, and now you and the rest of the council races have been content to let them waste away on Tuchanka. Will you do the same thing now… use the krogan to fight the reapers, and then cast them aside again once the work is done…"

Tali looked up to meet the salarian's gaze, only to find Mordin wearing an expression she was unaccustomed to seeing on his narrow face. His normally cheerful and thoughtful countenance had been replaced by one of conflict. Maybe even shame. Tali regretted that she had let herself become so frustrated, that she had snapped at the scientist. He had not meant to offend with his comment, and he had not deserved the inquisition she had just laid upon him. She took a few deep breaths to collect herself, and quiet settled on the lab while Mordin continued to fiddle with the read-out in front of him. This time, though, there was an obvious feeling of tension between them, and still a look of distraction on the salarian's face.

"Mordin… I shouldn't have said all that."

"No. Do not apologize. You are right to ask these questions. I did not know you cared so much about the krogan."

…

"I guess being on Tuchanka, seeing what it was like for them up close like that…how they are outcasts, isolated from the rest of the council races, forced to fend for themselves… It reminded me of my own people."

…

"You are very intuitive Tali'Zorah. It is a valuable quality."

Tali was surprised. It was the strongest compliment she had ever received from Mordin, and she knew that for him it was a rare thing.

"Thank you, Mordin. And you are very honest."

That familiar smile crept back across the salarian's face

"I know."


End file.
